Shmitten Kitten

When He's Cool With Me Watching The Food Network All Afternoon As I Lay Around His House

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 28 May 2012 16:50:00 +0000

Bonerkiller: His Stupid Cigar Habit

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 28 May 2012 15:10:00 +0000

The Monopoly Man looks like a jerk

Smoking cigars is a dirty habit. It's pungent, it's gross, and it's a total turn-off for me. I hate everything about it. I hate the way he holds in between his fingers like chopsticks holding a stuffed grape leaf. I hate the way he puffs on it, rolling it around like he knows what he's doing (he doesn't). I hate the trail of smoke it leaves behind; a noxious cloud that irritates my lungs and stings my eyes. Fuck all of it. And, fuck him for making me remember how much I hate cigar smoke.

I've never wanted to kiss a guy smoking a cigar. Ever. You know who smokes cigars? Overweight suburban neighbors named Bob, golf pros, and semi-successful bankers who want people to think that they're very successful. Your best friend's father smokes cigars, so do drunk frat guys who want to appear sophisticated while they stand around drinking beers out of red Solo cups.

You know what these men have in common? I'm completely uninterested in touching them in any sort of romantic scenario. Unless he's Bill Murray and he's crashing a backyard pool party/ croquet match/ badminton tournament, he should put the damn cigar away. (Bill Murray can do whatever the fuck he wants.)

I feel like smoking a cigar is supposed to connotate wealth, but it's a poor choice. It's not as bad as smoking a pipe (that's still reserved for Philosophy majors and part-time bards) but it's pretty damn close. And, if he chooses to light it up around me, I'm gonna rip it out of his hands and crush it under my foot like how Hot Sandy did it to her cigarette at the end of Grease. "Tell me about it, stud!" - Me, to him when he's like, "What the fuck?" because I just smashed his cigar and I'm trying to live out my fantasy of being Hot Sandy so I'm gonna stay in character a little longer. Fuck his cigar in it's big, fat, smoky face!

Walking Into A Party And Seeing My Ex

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 24 May 2012 04:55:00 +0000

There's This Thing Called The Shmitten Kitten Mix of the Month Club And You Should Join It

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 23 May 2012 13:46:00 +0000

Hey there! I hope you're having a great day. I'm not sure if we've talked about this yet, but you should join the Shmitten Kitten Mix of the Month Club. It goes out to your inbox on the first of every month like clockwork. It's reliable, like knowing that Jennifer Lopez will have a fling with one of her backup dancers.

Here's the logo. I made it with my own two hands (and a computer).

You're probably like, "I've heard a lot about this mix of the month club but ugh, it seems like a lot of work to click a link and submit my email address." You're wrong! It's not a lot of work at all. It's the opposite of work. Actually, if that's what you think, don't bother joining. I don't want your kind involved anyway. Forget it. (I'm using reverse psychology! Is it working?)

So much free music; so much free fun. Join right now and get in on this. Do it!

Also, why you're here reading this, be sure to follow me on Twitter and Facebook. Thanks!

Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Projecting TV Shows And Movies On His Wall Like A Boss

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Fri, 18 May 2012 17:25:00 +0000

I seriously love when guys rig up projectors like this. We should have a national holiday honoring homeboys who single-handedly transform their drafty South Philly row homes into luxurious cinema-esque living room experiences. If it weren't for his noisy neighbors constantly slamming their screen door every 20 minutes, I'd almost feel like I was on an episode of Cribs.

Thanks to his bitchin' set-up, now we can kick back, drink some beers and watch Drive like we're Arabian princes or successful rappers.

And, just when I thought I couldn't be more relaxed or entertained, if he kicks it up a notch and rubs my feet during the movie, let's just say that my work on this planet is done. Just kill me right then and there because my life will never get better than that moment. A foot rub and a giant TV? Dare I dream? Just thinking about it is making my relax-o-meter jump from "listening to Belle & Sebastian's earlier albums" to "sipping coffee and nibbling on whole wheat toast on a Sunday morning" to "getting a head massage from a muscular Swedish man with capable, trained hands." Holy shit! I'm so relaxed I'm practically melting into a puddle of purrs.

Guy Live-Tweets Awkward Date He Witnessed At Starbucks; Hilarity Ensues

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 15 May 2012 01:43:00 +0000

Joel Watson witnessed an awkward date of epic proportions at Starbucks so he live-tweeted the entire thing. Aaaaaand, it's hilarious.

via Hijinks Ensue

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I'm Not Looking For A Relationship Right Now"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 14 May 2012 18:21:00 +0000

Sometimes I think that there must be an underground secret society where guys rack up points by saying this phrase to me. Maybe it's like skee-ball where they earn tickets for saying it and they can redeem the tickets for, I don't know, a baseball hat or a stuffed animal or some shit. In other words, guys say this to me. A LOT.

Personally, I've never looked for a relationship. Usually it's something I'm compelled to do against my better judgement like spending a sunny afternoon indoors watching a mini-marathon of MTV's True Life or ordering a shitton of tank tops online from Old Navy because they're on sale. No, I fall into relationships. It's like how Indiana Jones fell into that pit of snakes; similarly, there's a lot of trapdoors and dim lighting involved.

I know he's probably just trying to spare my feelings when what he really wants to say is that he doesn't wanna hear my opinions on "Mob Wives" anymore (they're not in the mob and most of them aren't married; it's a misnomer!). Maybe I'm too tall for him and he's sick of everyone staring at us when we walk in a room together but he doesn't know how to say that without sounding like an insecure dick.

Or maybe he really doesn't wanna be in a relationship with anyone, which I can respect even though it's the dumbest thing I've ever heard because I'd make a great girlfriend! I send funny text messages. I'll scratch his back anytime he wants me to. I own two seasons of "Mr. Show" on DVD. If that doesn't make for a perfect relationship, then I don't know what does.

No, I understand why he'd say this phrase to me. Relationships take a lot of work and sometimes a person's just not up for the challenge. It's not anyone's fault. I get that but it doesn't make it suck any less to hear him say it.

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Have Never Been On An Airplane

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 10 May 2012 18:10:00 +0000

"Never?"
"No."
"Ever?"
"I said, no. Is that so weird?" He was starting to get agitated.
"It's pretty weird!"
"It's not that weird."
"I'm telling you, it is! What kind of adult has never been on a plane?"
"I don't know what to tell you." His voice was getting higher. "It just hasn't come up yet."
"How old are you again?"
"31."
"Okay. In your 31 years of life on this planet, you've never had to get on a plane? No funerals, no vacations, no cousins' weddings?"
"Are you done?"
"Have you ever seen a pilot in real life?"
"Seriously, are you done?"
"Answer my question!"
"I've seen a pilot. I mean, yeah."
"Was it in an airport?"
"No, I think it was at the supermarket."
"Have you ever been in an airport?"
"Sure. I'm not like, a mole person."
"So, I take it you're not in the mile-high club then?"
"Alright, we're done talking about this."
"I can't believe that you've never been on an airplane. Now I feel like it's my duty in life to facilitate this dream for you."
"It's not a dream of mine. Don't worry about it."
"No, I'm gonna hold a bake sale. Or collect coins in Pepsi cans like in Ferris Bueller. Maybe we can do a Kickstartr campaign?"
"I have no idea why I even told you about this."
"I believe I can fly/ I believe I can touch the sky," I sang.
"I hate you."
"You don't hate me. You hate airplanes." Suddenly, I had an idea. I took out my phone and started typing on it.
"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning over to see the screen.
"If you must know, I'm looking up the words to the Red Hot Chili Peppers' song "Aeroplane."
He rolled his eyes which made me laugh.
"Oh, shit. Found 'em! 'I like pleasure spiked with pain and music is my aeroplane/ It's my aeroplane.'"
He covered his ears and frowned which made me laugh even harder.

Pics and Vids: Longterm Relationship Barbie

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 09 May 2012 15:32:00 +0000

I've got 99 problems but droppin' a deuce in front of Ken ain't one.

via

Pics and Vids: Well, This Is A Terrible Dating Profile Video

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Sat, 05 May 2012 20:09:00 +0000

Whoa! For a dating profile video, this guy has sure has some controversial opinions. When he's not complaining about avoiding STDs, the state of race relations, or straight-up oversharing, he's borderline entertaining. He almost sounds like a slow-talking British Kenny Powers. See for yourself. This clip is slightly NSFW due to his totally inappropriate use of explicit language.

via Buzzfeed

Flippin' Our Shades At Julieanne Smolinski

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Fri, 04 May 2012 16:44:00 +0000

Usually I profile rad dudes in this space, but I had an epiphany the other day while I was riding my bike: I should feature more rad women! I have a bunch of girlfriends that do cool shit. And, I couldn't think of a better woman to start with than Julieanne Smolinski. Maybe you know her better as @Boobsradley on Twitter. She's hilarious. Aside from posting funny observations on her tumblr site, she's also a regular contributor to xoJane, Vulture, and GQ, among others. Frankly, I find her delightful so I asked her some questions about dating.

SK: What's your idea of a perfect date?
Julieanne: Dates terrrrrrify me. The few Date-dates I've been on have wigged me out. If I'm actively seeing somebody, I'm much more of a "cook and watch Ken Burns movies and make dumb jokes and second base each other"-type. If I ended up having a romantic dinner with a strange person for the first time, it's probably going to be in some kind of "Lost"/"Gilligan's Island"/Six Days Seven Nights scenario, so I'm guessing it's coconuts and whatever survived the wreck eaten astride a sensuously crackling signal fire.

SK: What do most guys do wrong when they're out with a girl?
Julieanne: If I never hear any variation of, "So why don't you have a boyfriend?" or "How are you still single?" again, it will not be soon enough. Even when it's a compliment, it makes you sound like you're kicking my tires. On the "What Would You Like to See More Of?" side, I guess I could deal with more skateboarding tricks.

SK: What's the worst thing a girl can do on a date?
Julieanne: Murder's pretty bad. Murder, or that thing where you try to get too big of a piece of lettuce in your mouth and then you have to use your hand, and you still get ranch all over your chin, and you're like, "Oops, sorry!" and everybody's embarrassed: you, your date, the waiter, the host. A piece of everybody dies for you, and the night always just goes south from there.

SK: Tell us a secret!
Julieanne: I am incredibly shy. Can that be my secret? I mean, I'm a total disgusting filthy sex pervert, obviously, but otherwise: incredibly shy.

SK: What advice would you give a younger version of yourself about dating?
Julieanne: Younger me a was a huge ho, and I've sort of settled down and gotten more reserved and inhibited. I guess I would tell her to enjoy her prime hoing years because things get very boring when you get old, and your prime all-girl three-way on a Chinatown rooftop years are behind you. I mean, I still have crazy all-girl three-ways, but there's a lot of talking about the Atlantic Monthly and taxes and what nuts have the most omega-3s during them.

SK: What would you put on a mix tape for a guy that you liked?
Julieanne: This is difficult, because I tend to like men who are Very Into Music, so the idea of making a mix tape is perennially terrifying. Because what if he was into me before and then I make him a tape and he's like, "Look at this garbage person and her garbage monster music taste. I hope she dies alone, on some kind of desert island, with a piece of lettuce dangling from her mouth." I'm a classic rock girl with old country music and punk thrown in, which is pretty unambitious as far as mix tapes go. I do always like to throw in something really jarring, like this weird recording I have of the Charles in Charge theme song.

Again, she's @Boobsradley on Twitter and you should follow her immediately.

Pics and Vids: GPOY

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 03 May 2012 21:35:00 +0000

via our sister site, Shlooby Kitten

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Take Long Showers

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 03 May 2012 17:15:00 +0000

When I take a long time in the shower, it's because I'm working. Let's say I've got a big date that night. That means I've got two legs to shave, two armpits to also shave, 85% of my body to exfoliate using special gloves I bought at Ulta, and I have to let my deep conditioner properly sit for the recommended 3-5 minutes. I'm fucking busy.

So, it irritates me that he's taking so long because I know for a fact that he's not doing anything in there. He's just standing around zoning out. And, I'm getting sick of tapping my toe while he suds up. He's been in there for over a half hour! Is he dead? Is he scrubbing every molecule on his skin individually? Hurry the fuck up, man. I still have to put my makeup on and he's hogging the bathroom like a shitty older sister.

If I didn't have such an aversion to knocking on bathroom doors and saying, "Hey! Everything okay in there?" I would knock on the door and say, "Hey! Everything okay in there?" But, I have a strict no-knocking on bathroom doors policy so I guess I'll just sit here, make another cocktail and angrily check my watch every 30 seconds.

And, it's not just annoying that his shower took almost 45 minutes (!), but when he finally opens the door, a giant steam cloud whooshes out of the bathroom like he's a Ninja Turtle emerging out of a sewer grate. He's not the hot lady in Weird Science or Nigel Tufnel; he doesn't need to turn my bathroom into a makeshift fog machine. Great; all this humidity in the bathroom is going to make doing my hair a bitch. Let me tell you, I'm two dirty martinis away from kicking the door in and screaming, "Let's get this show on the road already! I still have to curl my hair and you're fucking ruining everything!"

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: The Litter Box In His Bathroom

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:29:00 +0000

This litter box is a duo of stink: It stinks nostril-wise and it stinks life-wise. Just being within ten feet of his bathroom, I can feel the litter particles banging around my brain like stinky microscopic pinballs. I'm gagging just thinking about it.

His bathroom smells like SARS, monkeypox and the bird flu banging in a pee ditch at Burning Man. Why is this litter box so close to the toilet? I have to bury my mouth and nose into the top of my shirt like I'm kicking over a bloated corpse just trying to bust out a quick #1. It's stupid!

And, it's not just the smell thats unholy; nothing is worse than stepping out of his shower and onto stray kitty litter pebbles. It's almost impossible to avoid. I'm hotstepping all over the place. I'm in pebble hell! I'm basically krumping just trying to get solid footing on the tile floor.

I know his apartment is small. I know there's literally nowhere else to plop the litter box, but it's still a bummer. And that just makes me sad.

When The Bar's About To Close And He Says That He Has Some Beers Back At His Place

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:04:00 +0000

Celebrity Bonerkiller: Jon Hamm's Shiny Eyelids

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 03:27:00 +0000

What is that? Stress? Sweat? Stwess (stress sweat)? It looks like he has mayonnaise-based eyeshadow smeared on his face. He basically has eye aioli. Are his eyelids actually his armpits? Is that even possible? I don't know; I threw out my Encyclopedia Brittanicas so I have no way of knowing. All I can say is that you’re better than that, Mr. Hamm. You're better than that. Swipe a Kleenex over your peepers; pat that shit down like your eyelids are a 7-year-old and your hand is a TSA agent. Ugh. Gross. I'm gonna go pour 40s out for all the boners that have been slaughtered via this screenshot.

(screencap taken from here)

Let's Talk About The Shmitten Kitten Mix of the Month Club

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 16:13:00 +0000

Hello. I'll make this brief. Join the Shmitten Kitten Mix of the Month Club. It goes out to your inbox on the first of every month like clockwork. It's reliable, like a good buddy or an old Nokia phone. Here's the logo. I made it with my own two hands (and a computer).

I already have over 1,600 people signed up which is awesome. That's a lot of people. And, if history has taught me anything, it's that 1,600 people can't be wrong about anything. History is on my side!

So much free music; so much free fun. Join right now and get in on this. Do it!

Bonerkillers Visualized, Courtesy of Roger Sterling

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 04:08:00 +0000

So when a guy walks in wearing a baggy shirt with overly floppy cuffs, shiny square-toed black shoes, and has douchey wraparound shades that are perched on his head, this is what happens to my boner.

Calling A Dude

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 17:11:00 +0000

One thing to know about me: I never call dudes. Ever.

But trust me; this guy was a cutie.

So the fact that I decided to call him was a big deal. I had to summon all of my courage.

I took a deep breath and dialed his number. He didn't pick up.

I *gulp* left a message. Truthfully, I rambled.

And, he didn't call me back. It was awkward.

At first I was cool about it.

But, I was surprised I hadn't heard anything.

Doesn't he know that I made an effort?

I thought he liked me! I'm so confused.

Then, I got embarrassed.

Then, I got angry.

Real angry.

Super angry.

Fuck, now I'm sad.

Whatever! Screw him.

He's not that great.

I could find another guy to crush on.

One that calls girls back.

Then, my phone vibrated. He texted me. There was a spelling mistake and an emoticon.

Gross. I was over him. I went to go hang with my best friends instead.

When I Lean In To Say Hi And Realize That His Breath Smells Like Shit

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 05:00:00 +0000

Manly Jelly Belly Flavors

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 20:03:00 +0000

I'd totally sign an online petition for Jelly Belly to make whiskey-flavored jelly beans.

via

Story Time: How's Your Love Life Goin'?

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 19:36:00 +0000

Hey, guys. Anna here. So, I'm sitting at Starbucks sipping an iced coffee and I was just thinking about how weird my life is right now. Like, last night I was grabbing Chinese food at 1am as normal people with normal eating habits do. While I was waiting for my food to be prepared, this guy walked in, looked me up and down and licked his lips like I was a giant plate of sweet and sour shrimp (which, I will concede, sounds delicious). I hoped he'd forget that I was there once he remembered his proximity to lo mein noodles, but he didn't. He decided to speak to me.

"Anyone ever tell you you're beautiful?" he asked.

Yeah, nobody has ever said that to me. Not at my bat mitzvah. Not at my prom. Not at my sister's wedding. Not at my other sister's wedding either. I'm Taylor Swift sitting pigeon-toed on the bleachers, pushing my glasses up my nose with my pointer finger as I stare at the basketball captain shooting a lay-up. If were in Beverly Hills, 90210, I'd be Andrea Zuckerman, who's basically a frog with stiff bangs and eyeglasses. Fuck you, dude. What a dumb thing to say!

The area to order our food was small and well-lit. I couldn't pretend I didn't hear him. He stared at me, waiting for an answer. Then the tiniest light bulb of all time lit up over my head; I remembered that I had the capacity to lie.

"Yeah, my boyfriend tells me all the time." I almost tripped over the word "boyfriend." I don't remember the last time I said "boyfriend" out loud. Wait, I remember: it was when I said, "That dinosaur would make a great boyfriend," BECAUSE THAT'S HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE I'VE HAD ONE. Sorry for yelling. I'm trying to be emphatic here.

"Does he tell you you're his queen?" This guy was a riot! It's so funny because I just wanted to jam on a spring roll and motor home to watch the latest episode of "The Voice" on demand, but now I'm somehow roped into talking about my non-existent boyfriend with a rude stranger.

"He sure does," I said. He also parasails, hang glides, and picks "She Talk to Angles" as his go-to karaoke song choice. It sucks that I have to make up a boyfriend to avoid talking to people but whatever. "Everybody hurts." -R.E.M.

I don't know. How's your love life going? It has to be better than making up romantic prospects at hole-in-the-wall Chinese joints in South Philly. Tell me in the comments!

Pics and Vids: Aziz Ansari Doesn't Like Texting, FYI

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 17:57:00 +0000

Hearing Aziz Ansari's voice get high-pitched about how much texting sucks makes my heart happy.

Aziz Ansari Standup - Texting with Girls (Dangerously Delicious Preview) from Aziz Ansari

Whatever. I'd totally grab pizza with him. Hit me up, boo!

h/t Jo Pincushion

Just Between Us, He's Sitting Too Far Away For Me To Entertain The Idea of Talking to Him

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 23:46:00 +0000

I was at the park recently. It was a great day. The sun was out. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I was enjoying the sun's gentle rays warming my skin.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

I looked over at a guy sitting on a blanket 20 feet away. He was smiling at me. His socks were balled up into his sneakers and his pasty feet were chillin' in the sun. He wiggled his toes.

"It sure is," I said.

"What's that?" He cupped his hand behind his ear and leaned forward.

"I said, 'IT SURE IS.'" A girl reading a book a few feet away glared at me. So did a couple laying on the grass.

"'So," he yelled, "do you come here often?"

I'm gonna stop him right there. I don't feel like shouting to a stranger in a public park. I just don't. So, I didn't answer him. I didn't respond. Fuck it. He's too far away and he's ruining everything for everyone trying to sustain boring small talk with me and I'm not having it. Sorry, but them's the breaks, buddy!

Bonerkiller: Guys That Say "Thank You" To Me After We Kiss

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 19:18:00 +0000

No, THANK YOU for saying something weird
after we just played tonsil hockey

After a passionate liplocking, please don't disengage, smile, and softly coo, "Mmmm. That was nice. Thank you." There's no need to thank me for kissing you. That's fucking dumb.

I don't know why that little "thank you" gets under my skin so much, but it does. It's pathetic, like why wouldn't I want to kiss him? Do people not kiss him a lot? Why? Is there something I should know? Was his face used for a gonorrhea ad or something and he didn't tell me? Is he related to Hitler? My wheels are spinnin', man!

And, what am I supposed to say in response to his gratitude? "You're welcome"? "That'll be five bucks, Mister"? "Actually, your Dad's a better kisser"? See what I mean? Ugh. I don't even want to look at him anymore.

I don't know if he saw someone say it once in a rom-com or what, but he's gotta retire the post-kiss "thank you" immediately because it totally ruined the mood. Whatever. Let's just enjoy the silence as Depeche Mode instructed us.